"catchy" poems
**** the twin-size mattress,
that cheap indigo color.
Where my best friend’s legs,
her hands and knees,
were entangled in struggle.
**** his barbell body
heavy and cold to the touch.
She had been hunted
by someone that she trusted.
**** the world that assumed
she was kissed. Not gripped,
nor crushed under his pressing force.
**** the cinder block walls
of that college dormitory,
where she stared and refused
to sleep in her own bed
After that night.
**** the catchy tune of breath
rolling over teeth
that play in her head.
**** her father. He would say
he doesn’t approve of her *******
So, she chose to stay quiet.
Forgettably quiet.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 2:09 AM UTC
I like music and catchy tunes
but the song that is your voice
is my favourite one yet.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 3:09 PM UTC
Dancing and twirling
Devilish thoughts
They taunt
They sing
And laugh an eerie song
I know every word
Every down beat and note
I sing a long every day
Catchy tunes
They get stuck in your head
Even when there is no physical sound
It repeats
And repeats
On and on
Like a chanting spell
Like a screaming cry
This suicide song
It won't let me die
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 3:06 AM UTC
my condolences go out to the man
who gets everything he always wanted
ignorance is bliss is more than just a catchy phrase
the man whose every wish comes true
has to live with the knowledge
having never feels as good as wanting
while the man who has naught but his desire
will be left blissfully ignorant everyday
with hope left over for tomorrow
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 1:00 AM UTC
⠀ there is one girl i know.
⠀ her voice is of angels,
⠀ too perfect for this earth.
⠀ her voice could make
⠀ even the most stubborn
⠀ flowers bloom early.
⠀ her voice is the rising sun
⠀ and i can’t wait to wake up.
⠀ yes i do like music and catchy tunes
⠀ but the song that is your voice
⠀ is my favourite one yet.
⠀ - BZQ
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 8:49 AM UTC
Everyone you have lost is gone forever.
If you try to call the dead, the phone won’t ring.
You won’t hear their voices.
The ground will shake like your wrists.
You will realize this sometime, when you’re in the bath and every nerve in your body is screaming at you to put your head under and count to a thousand.
You are more than a suicide note.
You are more than a suicide attempt.
You are more than cuts and bruises, and friends that abandon you and don’t even say hello in the hallways anymore.
People will leave you, daughter. People will leave you alone and shaking.
You’ll find solace in the most unexpected places, in the boys that look like they belong in the 1970s and in the vinyl that whispers to you while the sun is going down.
Eventually you will find the people that will bend the sky down to you so that you can touch the clouds.
They will become your motivation, they will become the glow in the dark stars on your bedroom ceiling.
You will forget that they are plastic, and often mistake them for the night’s sky.
Memories do not always hurt, it’s okay to be nostalgic but do not drown in it.
Do not drown in anything but love, daughter.
Love every leaf, every lover’s vein.
And every single time you think you’re going insane.
You’re not.
Remember that the door is always closed, but always easily opened.
Remember that you can leave.
Remember that you can take the next flight out, start a new life.
Remember that the world is in your piano hands.
You’ll meet someone and call them love because they don’t know the difference between the dull and sharp edge of a knife.
You’ll write poems.
Lots of them.
You’ll write enough poems to fill the walls in all of the rooms in all of the houses you have ever lived in.
You’ll scrawl them on the tree stumps you find temporary homes in while walking in the forest.
You’ll engrave them on someone’s bones after they tell you that they would rather die a thousand deaths than go a second without your energy warming their cheeks.
For every accomplishment, erase five shortcomings from your mind.
Be yourself before you forget who that is.
Be, daughter, be who you want to be;
Be who you know yourself to be.
When the world is sleeping on your shoulders at 4 in the morning, don’t wake it up.
Take a deep breath, rock the earth into a deeper sleep.
Tell the walls your secrets because they don’t whisper.
Don’t tell anyone with a tongue something you wouldn’t want to end up floating back out of their mouths like a catchy song.
When you’re standing up on stage, waiting to start your poem, do not avoid eye contact.
Make everyone nervous with your metaphors.
Make everyone nervous with your passion.
You are the strongest soul you’ll ever be.
And when I die, shall we not meet again,
Remember that I am your mother, daughter.
And mothers, always know best.
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 10:24 AM UTC
The birthday song is not a song it's not even a small ditty
As it is only four lines long it's really rather ******
There isn't a good chorus so isn't that a pity
A catchy tune it has not got and the lyrics are not witty
This song's lyrics are so short and there all the ****** same
Apart from the 3rd line down when you substitute a name
Okay you say "Dear" instead of "To", but its still a basic frame
So this is not a song at all so why has it got the fame
It's no wonder people alter the words with monkeys in the zoo
And looking like these critters and smelling like them too
Or changed to bread and butter in the gutter or squashed tomatoes and stew
Because the song is so boring so what else can you do
Who the hell wrote this song was it someone who's autistic
Come on now lets be frank and a bit more realistic
If I where to write this song producers would go ballistic
I'd get thrown out of the biz and become a lost statistic
Just because it's your birthday I'm not singing about happy
People are compelled to sing when really its just ******
It's not the best song in the world I don't want to sound so snappy
The birthday song is full of crap just like a soiled *****
It's like we are pre programmed even Marilyn Monroe
To sing the ****** birthday song just for ****** show
But honestly this song is crap and it can surely go
And we can stop with the pretence and cease going with the flow
When your birthday does arrive and your expecting a big day
The time will come when you know your ears are going to pay
Cos someone's bound to start it with or without your say
Why does it have to be sung does it have to be this way
Singing the birthday song should not be a life compulsion
Don't succumb to the trend and quash your minds impulsion
Stamp down on the process and enforce a song expulsion
Do away with this song and all of its revulsion
The birthday song is not a song when it's sixteen words long
Half of them are happy birthday that doesn't constitute a song
The wording is so ****** thin as thin as a snapped thong
And the musical arrangement isn't even strong
People should not sing this song not even a small bit
Why is it classed as a song we should stop singing it
Most of the words are the same and there is a lack of wit
So don't sing the birthday song cos it's not a song it's ****
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 8:14 AM UTC
It was a restless night denuded of sleep
So since it was warm and windless
I hit the streets
Walking under ancient oaks draped in Spanish moss
My path inevitably led to where
Everything was at a complete loss
Crescent Moon Memorial Cemetery
For the dead
Where all lie below earthly care
Was where my feet had somehow led
Row upon row of forgotten names
In all of their endeavors
Have been eased of their earthly pains
And now as I trudged by at a quarter to three
A low chorus and chords of music
Through the mists came floating to me
It startled and intrigued
What now is this ?
So I had to go see for myself
And I silently crept to where came the origins of bliss
In a circle of bench seats and monument stones
The strangest thing I saw , that of the unborn
Ghosts and skeletons playing with bones and singing in moans
A see through piano , trombone , bass , saxophone and a silver cornet
And one wailing guitar completed the set
On the translucent petal bass drum
Was the name of the ethereal band
And to a catchy tune I began to hum
Crescent Moon Memorial Buried Blues Band
The epitaph on the vaporous drum stated
And I soon found myself a loyal fan
What seem like a lifetime they continued to play
Quaint rthyms and lyrics now made my day . . . and night !
As the sounds drifted across the river out onto the bay
But far off I heard the mornings cock's call
Then phiff . . . vanished all into the fog
Not a trace as if covered by an invisible pall
And then a ray caught the gleam in my eye
And I knew that when the time comes
Here's where I want to be placed after I die
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 8:38 PM UTC
Purple Cow
I've never seen a purple cow
though I have been inside a purple haze
things are different between then and now
when I stumbled around for many dayz
standing in corners watching the crowd
yellow barrels of sunshine enlightened view
Mr Hendrix's Watchtower 90 decibels loud
smiling faces thinking that we really knew
it seemed so simple peace and love
not very real but I so miss those times
burn the bra olive branch and dove
now I just sit and think up rhymes
Dylan's monotone with catchy words
Gracie had her rabbit of white
he was a friend of mine sang out the Byrds
another hit of fresh air tonite
Vietnam changed things so much
yet still again the money rules
you would have thought we had the touch
but once again we are the fools
so maybe it is time once again
to raise up our voices and show them how
we will not just stand around and grin
maybe it's time to see that purple cow
Gomer LePoet ....
Nov 5, 2011
Nov 5, 2011 at 11:48 AM UTC
I always reached for the stars thinking that it was you.
In my life full of chaos, you were the one who gave me a colorful hue.
I watched you as you swayed your body
Throughout this catchy rhythm and loud melody.
Your smiles that worth thousands of butterflies
Our fate is impossible to catch in our eyes.
I prayed every night to hug you and kiss you before I sleep
For in your sparkling eyes made me easily leap
It doesn’t matter how long I’d wait
Rumors around started to burn into hate
You are the star twinkling at the darkest skies
Your every movements are watched in every eyes
How I wish I was beside you
Holding, hugging and comforting you
Optimistic words that encourage you to do better
My heart is really shot like a jagger
Then I realized I’m out of your league
The endeavors will never be with us even if I beg
Feb 14, 2017
Feb 14, 2017 at 10:47 AM UTC
The sly smoke lingering upon the room
The door open, enclosing the broom
Calmly I sat, on my wooden chair
Reading the newspaper, under the sun's glare
Yet the phone soundly rang
A catchy tune it's speakers sang
In my mind, who could it be?
In the end of the line, a stranger greets me.
And such reveals the mists of mystery
He demands me to stay awake
This uncalled feeling of stressful misery
Is far worst than I could take
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 8:51 PM UTC
Cancer isn’t catchy so
I can ride in cabs and
Work for a
While longer
Try not to
Resent the
Unaffected
Cancer isn’t catchy so
I can hold our
Daughter and
hug her when
She cries
And borrow her Teddy
When I need him
Cancer isn’t catchy so
You can stand
By my side
Eat with me
And let me
Wear your shirts
And boxer shorts
Cancer isn’t catchy so
You can kiss me
All the time
Lay next to me
And dry my eyes
When all this pain
Is just too much
Cancer caught me so
I’ll have to
Leave you soon
I want your face
And hers
To be the last things
I ever see
Jul 18, 2010
Jul 18, 2010 at 11:35 AM UTC
There is a woman I oft meet
On my journey here to home
Hey Lady!
I feign to shout.
My complexion's dark
But not my Soul.
So when you fright
On my approach
For
Goodness
Sake;
There is no need
To cross the road.
I'll feel that for a millennia,
ME
&
My kin
You so rudely
Robbing me,
Of the
opportunity,
To politely
Commune with you...
“good morning”
Then again,
You could be applying,
Learned street smarts?
Changing lanes,
Avoiding crossing paths.
This
Uptown
Downtown
Topsy-Turvy
Up-side-down
YOU'RE - SO - COOL
Pretending not to see me,
Hiding under your
Beats
Skull candy.
What sweet music
are you channeling?
Tunes contrary to Art?
Con
Artist
Purveyors
of
Catchy wicked things
Said twice?
High definition
'Stereo'
Types?
Shall we dance from a distance
Again tomorrow?
Yes of course!
For I believe,
You too have been deceived.
Hey! Ms. Concept,
R U
Thinking;
The beauty found in this deep Brown,
Predetermines fact that
I'm called
Black?
© Qwey.ku
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 5:15 AM UTC
It had to be a yes
It coulda been a sure
There ain't no way to know why don't you go and ask the *****
I'll blame it on the Drinks
no matter what you thinks
**** it up to having fun outside of roller rinks.
Blame it on my Dad
add up all he had
Never had the time talk but yo he wasn't Bad.
But Don't blame it on the ra rah rah raw ape Culture!
Blame it on the hips
the rubbing and the dips
**** a rubber neways it woulda ****** ripped
I asked that ***** twice
don't I sound nice
Check my stats wow Now you know she wanna slice
Hey Hey it wasn't me, It's spaghetti strapped tees
skirt above the knees
my eyes are steady sayin please
I can't control my blink
they way you dress in pink
I'm the best to women no matter what they ****** think
But Don't blame it on the Rap ra ra raw ape Culture!
I saw you from a far
you walked up to the bar
It must have been a sign from god so now your in my car
Of course you are a tease
there's no way that I could leave
A damsel in distress in need of what I gotta see
No one believes that I
could
ever be apart
of
something had to make me
act that way
(YOU)
ain't me
It Won't happen again
boo
believe me cause
I need too
hold on to my status
as the baddest
of the good dudes
So I'll Blame it on the Dress
Girl I won't confess
Blame it on my Name
that got you feeling all that shame
or you can Blame it on the Ra Rah rah Raw ape Culture.
Blame it on the Ra rah Rah raw ape **** Culture.
Blame it on the Drinks
forgetting what you think
Blame it on the Money
cause we all could use some Honey,
Blame it on the Ra Rah rah Raw Ape **** Culture
Blame it on the ra Rah ha ha ha Raw ape Culture!
Soon You'll be a wake
have time to contemplate
No matter what you do
they'll favor me before you
Say whats on your mind
Sell your rhyme to Time
Manufacture a movement
hashtag a catchy tag line
I objectify ya body cause I'm picking up the tab
calling you a goddess but I'll never call a cab
Tell'n me ya problems my shoulder is your tissue
would it make it better If I just got with you
the scratches on ya body are old bf issues
Even Judge and Jury will straight up diss you
So you can Blame it on my Dad
The one I never had
Blame on the rain
*** you faking just for fame
You can
Blame it on the Ra ra rah Raw ape **** Culture
Blame it on the Ra ha ha ha ha **** Culture.
I'm saying what you want
You didn't look that drunk
I make you feel good bout your body
Call me Trump
My hands are all up on you
but you didn't run so I got you
and
I'll blame it on the Stress
the money and success
I'll blame it on the way you looked
standing by my desk
So Blame it on the Ra Rah Rah Raw ape **** Culture
Blame it on the Ra ha Rah Ha ha Haha **** Culture....
Nov 5, 2016
Nov 5, 2016 at 11:57 AM UTC
Leaves are a little bit like girls
When I see a really crunchy looking leaf
I want to march up to it and step on it
Hear that sweet sound of spring’s death
Bringing way to autumn's beauty
With all her vivid colors
The changing trees swaying
In the chilling breeze
Leaves are a little bit like girls
When I see a really pretty girl
I want to march up to her and say something catchy
Something smooth
Something groovy, like,
“Hey darling.”
“Congratulations on your face. It’s beautiful.”
Caught off guard by such forward bravery
She’d be taken aback by my chivalry
Opening the door to opportunity
Although leaves are a little bit like girls
There are distinct differences
And I know you can all be my witnesses
A leaf is waiting to be crushed
Like a back waiting to be popped into place
Girls aren’t so fond of ginger boys
Or even ginger men
To come straight up and lift them on the pedestal of admiration
Girls are shy too; it's not just me
I simply want to say
Something to make her smile
Like, “I want to talk with you a while”
Leaves are a little bit like girls
No matter how hard you try to rake them in
They blow away in something
As light as the wind
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 3:07 AM UTC
She may be our metronome mother
But when was rhythm first discovered?
Did ancient nomads hear it in the sounds of walking?
Did they like how it sounded over them talking?
Did they view the melody
As a felony?
And start to sway their hips
To the crack of whips?
Maybe that wasn't good enough
Maybe we needed more stuff
So we started crossing swords
To create more violent chords
That interested us more
Violence has a catchy hook
That can't be found in a book
But started with a ***** look
Until our brain begins to cook
And we learn to love the beat
As the harmony depletes
We take concert seats
At a darkness feast
There's an iambic pentameter
In the middle eastern theater
That sounds all too familiar
The troubling treble
Of mothers screaming
While superpowers meddle
And innocence is leaving
The reaper is reaping
To a situation heating
Empathy fleeting
Fascist seating
Rhythm beating
Our soundproof homes
Create acoustic cones
That our cries can't escape
Taking the container's shape
Filling our mind
Until we're blind
And only see political teams
Instead of childhood dreams
We fall into a rhythm
Based on deadly decisions
With lethal precision
Like surgical incisions
That don't make us healthy
But support the wealthy
Who whistle a different tune
That will **** us all soon
And as the world crumbles
Their bellies still rumble
Creating a disruptive bass
Their music we must face
With an impossible grace
Or else we'll be replaced
I hear instruments of percussion
Causing concussions
Deflecting discussions
Making us harmfully dance
So we'll have a fair chance
Which seems wrong at first glance
But it's actually a pragmatic trance
Provided by Mister Rhythm
Who carries misery with him
Apr 12, 2018
Apr 12, 2018 at 12:22 PM UTC
Purple Cow
I've never seen a purple cow
though I have been inside a purple haze
things are different between then and now
when I stumbled around for many dayz
standing in corners watching the crowd
yellow barrels of sunshine enlightened view
Mr Hendrix's Watchtower 90 decibels loud
smiling faces thinking that we really knew
it seemed so simple peace and love
not very real but I so miss those times
burn the bra olive branch and dove
now I just sit and think up rhymes
Dylan's monotone with catchy words
Gracie had her rabbit of white
he was a friend of mine sang out the Byrds
another hit of fresh air tonite
Vietnam changed things so much
yet still again the money rules
you would have thought we had the touch
but once again we are the fools
so maybe it is time once again
to raise up our voices and show them how
we will not just stand around and grin
maybe it's time to see that purple cow
Gomer LePoet ....
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 6:02 PM UTC
if ears had lips
mine would gladly tell you all the things
they can and cannot comprehend
they would explain the difference
between hearing and understanding;
just because they hear a sound
doesn’t mean they know what it is
or where it’s coming from
just because they hear a voice
doesn’t mean they discern words
they would ask you to please speak louder
and tell you that even though volume is their friend
if you take a jumble and turn up the juice
sometimes it becomes clearer
other times it’s just a loud jumble
they might tell you that writing things down saves time
or that texting works better than voicemail
they would tell you how much they miss
the rain’s incessant song
the wind’s sweeping whistle
a dropped pin’s pinging ping
earthy crashing blue green wave sounds
a lover’s soft whisper
eavesdropping’s noseyness
distance’s subtle sounds
footsteps’ proximity
a fire’s warm red orange crackle
freeway traffic’s rushing background noise
a phone call’s lively conversation
a tv show’s clever, non-closed-captioned script
a radio’s soulful catchy lyrics
live performance’s vibrant voice
the timbre of each note in a chord
as I strummed my guitar
they would tell you
how the ringing tones inside my head
compete with your words
they would speak of their frustration and indignation
when you ignorantly accuse them of selective hearing
they would apologize for asking you to repeat
and laugh with you at my disability
they would thank you for dealing with me anyway
they would smile in appreciation
for your exaggerated syll•a•bi•ca•tion
if ears could see
mine would overlook your rolling eyes
and exasperated sighs and expressions
they know it’s not your fault that they don’t work good
and hope you know it’s not their fault either
Dec 4, 2011
Dec 4, 2011 at 3:21 PM UTC
~Insert catchy title here~
Sometimes that's all you need
To get the ball a-rolling
To get your poem its read
It may not make much sense at all
They'll figure out in time
But before it is they do
~Insert here the perfect line~
As your drawing to a close
The readers mind you feel like bending
The next line is the spot where you
~Insert here a killer ending~
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 1:58 PM UTC
In my attempt to be clever and witty I have written you a poem.
For you to read and pick apart.
It will start with a catchy title that will then bring you to the opening sentence.
In my attempt to be clever and witty I have written you a poem.
If this poem catches your eye,
you will read Michelle Rose
to figure out worthiness of a follow or a like.
If this is uninteresting you won’t even bother to finish reading.
It will end with a clever remark that could be considered sarcasm,
just as the rest of the poem could have been.
You will then wonder to yourself, why did I just read that,
and what the hell is that second to last stanza supposed to mean?
Or maybe you won’t do any of this because you’re a normal person.
Did I just call you abnormal?
Sometimes I like to read in the dark too…
a clever remark that could be considered sarcasm,
Just as the rest of the poem could have been.
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 8:31 PM UTC
*Life is a melody
You can listen to only once*.
The first thirty seconds, you find the groove,
it's appealing
A harmonious rhythm hereto unwritten
This could be your favorite.
It is.
For the next three minutes, you settle in.
The chorus comes around.
You'll be here again.
It's fresh, it's catchy
You're enraptured by these certain pitches and the words rhyme perfectly.
One line flowing into the next, the ends justifying the means.
Another verse, another chorus. This one feels more weathered
Routine, maybe. You still feel that groove but your perspective of it has been altered by the change in tempo and direction during the last verse.
You realize you have fifteen seconds left.
This was your song. What did you do with it?
As you think back, a gentle blanket of white noise embraces everything that ever was, and your song fades
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 3:27 PM UTC
You're not a necessity,
You’re an accessory.
Stop trying to own me, talk at, and stand next to me.
Stop playing the role of the leader- you’re less than me.
I am the boss here you have nothing to offer- see?
I am stronger, smarter, brighter, bolder-
and all you have to say is what?
“If I can’t have her I’ll hurt her.”
You think because you’re man and I’m women I’m yours,
but when it comes to offers I haven’t see anything worse.
You call at me,
Stare at me,
Swear at me,
Slimy and gross like a leach.
You taunt me and smirk at me as if I’m in your reach.
So I’ve talked to you once,
We’ve made eye contact- your point?
You’re a cog in a machine line,
a small piece,
an ordinary joint.
You’re unoriginal with your words,
even less with your actions.
I’m beautiful and talented,
So when it comes to you there’s no attraction.
You have nothing to offer me,
let me be-stop accosting me.
You’re taking up my time and it’s costing me.
Because unlike you I’m not worthless,
I’ve got ambition and drive.
I’ve got brains-not just an ***
You’re not the reason I’m alive.
You’re nothing,
You’re worthless.
And if I wanted you, you’d know.
I’ve been trying to tell you repeatedly just where you can go.
Your offers?
Not catchy,
not tempting,
I don’t want anything less.
So sad to know when it comes to relationships-
this is as close as you ever get.
You’re ****
You’re trash.
You confuse me when you talk.
Since when does a women sleep with someone when they gawk, or when they stalk?
You’re a coward,
You’re a loser,
Your creation was a glitch.
And though yes, I am rejecting you,
No, boy-you are the little *****
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 3:42 PM UTC
Baseball fields are so cliche,
Catchy players become worldwide stars.
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 10:45 PM UTC
The first shots slammed across the woods at dawn
Into my sleep, there taking down my dreams
Which can’t be slung into a pickup truck
And carried to the processors by noon
Venison is a bit gamey, of course:
That’s why they call it game, wild game, then food
Blended with pork and spices for Thanksgiving
And that’s a nice little dream in itself
Let’s not indulge sentimentality here
In forest glades or on china plates – it’s just a deer
Nov 3, 2018
Nov 3, 2018 at 1:19 PM UTC
I have observed brightly lit stores...
window displays welcome
with wide open arms.
Kaleidoscope of colours,
dancing to catchy music...
adding on to the allure and charm.
Droves of shoppers have identified this
as their slice of heaven.
Flagging retail therapy
and finding their
pocket of Eden.
I have observed some laying down.
Relaxing...
unwinding...
On patches of grass.
They stare at the sky
with much adoration,
as wispy clouds float on by.
These skygazers have chosen this
to be their little slice of heaven.
With the ground on their backs,
grass between their toes
and azure as their witness...
this is their pocket of Eden.
I have observed a couple of lovebirds,
seated at a café...
immersed deeply in conversation.
In their own private universe,
their own little bubble.
Employing hugs and frequent pecks as punctuation.
There's nowhere else they'd rather be.
From their eyes I know,
they've found their unique slice of heaven.
In each other
they've found their pocket of Eden.
I have observed myself...
I thought myself to be lost
for the longest time.
Seeking a place
for the voice in my head
that only spoke in rhyme.
All is not lost when
I finally found that place.
My little slice of heaven.
For almost a year ago today
I decided on Hello Poetry
as my pocket of Eden.
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 1:20 PM UTC